“But when will you work?” asked the landlady, puzzled.
“I shall work in my room.”
“But what work can you do there?”
“I am an artist; that is, I am to make drawings for a new magazine.”
“You don’t say so? Will that pay?”
“Very handsomely.”
“I hope you will show me some of them. I never met an artist before.”
“I am afraid I am not much of an artist. I can show you one of my pictures now.”
Chester took from the table a number of Puck and pointed out a sketch.
“That’s pretty good,” said the landlady. “You wouldn’t get more than thirty-five cents for such a picture, would you?”